


Mr. Holmes' (not so) iron constitution

by tinawiththeglasses



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Cute, Cutesy, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Illnesses, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, The Reigate Squire, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, holmes is ill, sherlock holmes is ill, watson nursing holmes back to health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24214084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinawiththeglasses/pseuds/tinawiththeglasses
Summary: Holmes' health breaks down after the investigation surrounding the Netherland-Sumatra Company. Watson doesn't hesitate in travelling to France as soon as he hears of it.Who would have thought the Great Detective is such a handful?Sickeningly sweet fluff from start to finish, describing the events preceding "The Reigate Squire". Also Holmes being tired and moody.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	1. Arrival at Lyons

Breathless I stormed into the room. I had done nothing for the past 24 hours, save worry about the life of the man dearest to me. Even during my countless train journeys I had hardly been able to catch a wink, for when Mr. Sherlock Holmes' iron constitution gave in in such a way a doctor needed to be summoned, there was little room for optimism.  
“Holmes! Where is he? By God, I came as quickly as I could!”  
The hotel room was dark and stuffy, as if neither curtains nor windows had been opened in days.  
I ordered the palpitating maid to open them, as a result of which a little groan could be heard from the direction of the bed. In an instant, I was kneeling by my friend's bedside. He really did look ghastly. His features were haggard, his skin sallow, and his usually bright eyes looked dull and worn. Only his cheeks were flushed in a somewhat feverish fashion.  
“Ah, Watson. How good of you to come.” his tone macthed his appearance.  
“Of course, dear fellow! I left London as soon as I received your wire.”  
Holmes smiled tiredly at me, then looked at the anxious woman who had opened the curtains and windows at my request.  
“Servante, vous pouvez partire. Merci.”  
The maid curtsied and left. I commenced my examination by taking his temperature.  
“It was not my intention to worry you. I am sorry.” he smiled at me again in the same fashion as before, and I paused with my hand still resting on his forehead.  
“Well, I am glad to be of service.” said I sincerely, yet unintentionally romantic.  
He touched my wrist in such a way I was uncertain whether he did it out of affection, or because he wanted to convince himself I was really there.  
I smiled back at him a little awkwardly, trying to shake any emotions and continue with my examinartion. Luckily, his temperature was only slightly raised.  
“I concluded my investigation quite successfully after a few embarrassing blunders.”  
“I know, I read of your exploits in the papers. You are one of the most celebrated men in Europe at the moment.”  
“It hardly matters when I am bound to the bed like that,” he shrugged lightly, but I knew he enjoyed the praise. “But perhaps it is as well. At least I am certain never to suffer from boredom again within the next decade.”  
It was good to see that, underneath the sickly exterior still lurked the man whom I loved, with his gallows humour and the intelligent twinkle in his gray eyes. It might be a selfish thing to think, but I feel, at least a little, that my presence had already improved his spirits.  
Relief washed over me, once I was done with my routine, and I placed a loving hand on his chest. “Thank God it is nothing serious. You should be quite yourself again in a few days...” I paused and looked sternly into his eyes. “...provided you eat enough and take proper rest, that is.”  
“Quite, quite...I hardly believe I could avoid it, even if I wanted to, now you are here...”  
“No indeed, Holmes. I didn't come all this way and worried myself half to death only to be subject to your masterful nature.” Although I was effectively reprimanding him like a naughty boy, my tone was still gentle. I was too relieved and too glad to finally be near him again to be harsh.  
“Now, must I really ask how you came to be this way? Or why, despite the great number of excellent doctors in France, you summoned me?”  
Holmes joined his hand with mine once more, but rolled his head to one side with a sigh. I could feel his heart beat slowly but intensely in his chest. Were his cheeks not already flushed, I could have sworn he was blushing like a maiden.  
“You know me too well, dear boy.” he said eventually, looking back into my eyes. “I might have won in the eyes of justice, but I'm afraid I failed myself in the process. For eight weeks I worked tirelessly- hardly ever less than fifteen hours per day...well, it appears my method works splendidly over short periods of time, when fascinating but simple matters need solving. Two months I have hardly rested or eaten in any way you would condone.”  
“My word! Had I known of the strain you were under, I would have come at once!” I blurted out.  
Holmes chuckled weakly and shook his head.  
“That is exctly the reason why I chose not to tell you about it in my letters. It would have caused no end of trouble.”  
“Holmes, you can't go on like this forever. You might be lucky now, but god knows what will happen next time?”  
Another sigh. “I know, I know. I can see that now, though I cannot make any promises. My work is everything to me, you know that.”  
“Only too well..” I muttered, somewhat malcontent.  
“That aside, I must answer the other question you put to me earlier: After I fainted for the third time within two days, the concierge had me brought up to my room, and sent for a medic. I cannot fault him, as I was certain I would not see another day, but still refused. I knew that...I knew that your absence was as much part of my demise as that of sleep.” He had hesitated, which was quite out of character. “It might be for the same reason I say those things now, but you did ask. So, I would not have anyone else until they agreed to wire to London.”  
Needless to say, I was touched by this rare gesture of frank affection.  
“It had better be true, because now I am here, you won't get rid of me so easily.”  
He closed his eyes with the same satisfied expression of absolute relaxation he only showed when we were attending his favourite concerts. Was it the effect I had on him? I hardly dared hope so, but then again, we had not seen each other in almost eight weeks.  
“Splendid. Just the words I was hoping to hear today...” his voice trailed off slightly towards the end, and his muscles underneath the nightshirt relaxed  
“I shall be sure to remind you of these words when you are on your feet again.” I teased.  
“Ah, I missed our banter...” There was a short silence. “Watson?”  
“Yes, Holmes?”  
“Would you be so kind as to tell me what I missed in London during my absence? I...I hardly had the time to...to find a newspaper.”  
To this day I doubt he heard anything I said after that. As soon as I started to speak, his breathing flattened into the shallow but healthy pattern of a sound sleeper.


	2. Recovery & Recklessness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote most of this chapter because I didn't like it to the point where it was ruining the stoyr for me. I hope you guys ejoy the updated version! :D
> 
> Ps; I left in certain parts for the lovely person who was kind enough to comment! <3

I awoke the next morining unaware of where I was. My drowsy brain convinced me all was as it should be, and that I had fallen asleep on the sofa in our Baker Street lodgings again. As the vague memory of my nightly visions began to fade, reality returned in its stead. I understood then, that I had fallen asleep on the divan in Holmes' hotel room. The journey must have exhausted me in such a way, I had no memory of falling asleep- nor of loosening my collar or fetching a blanket.  
The chamber was eerily quiet. All that could be heard was my companion's shallow breathing.  
I attempted in vain to peer through the half-light of the room in order to catch a glimpse of how my friend was faring. I could make out nothing save for his pale skin, and the vague outline of his slender frame buried in the sheets.  
There was no alternative. I had to get to my feet and make my way over to the bed once more, hoping the soft carpet beneath my feet would swallow the sound of my steps. Luckily, he did not so much as stir when I knelt down by his side.  
Even in illness his features were strikingly handsome. While Holmes did not possess what most would call “great personal beauty”, there was a certain attractiveness to his sharp, clear-cut features which I could rarely resist.  
I took the liberty of watching him for some time, for it was rare to see him in such a state of absolute peace.  
His thin lips were slightly parted, so as to allow the passage of air. The closed lids quivered slightly, and, although I could not see them, I was aware of the thin purple veins covering them like intricate ornaments. Marvelous, how so strong and remarkable a man could look so delicate.  
It is impossible to say whether Sherlock Holmes is a heavy, or a light sleeper. Often have I attempted to make sense of his sleeping pattern, without success. At first, I believed the depth of his sleep to be dependent on his work, such as everything else in his life. This changed however, when I found he could sleep as soundly during a case, as without one. Certainly, there were times such as these, when he would work for days on end without much rest, but he would (more often than not) make up for it when his work was done, and rest until he was his very own self again.   
Thus,when I placed my hand upon his forehead to ascertain his temperature had not gone up, I did so in the foolish hope he would take no notice.  
There came a little groan, and Holmes stretched his limbs.  
“Mmmh, Watson...” he muttered sleepily without opening his eyes. “I have always wondered what it would be like to wake up by your side...”  
It was true that we had not yet had the fortune of spending an entire night together- a fact which has since changed by the time I am putting this short account to paper.  
“I am sorry. I didn't mean to wake you...How are you feeling, Holmes?”  
He bit his lip, frowned for a moment, then gave me a tired little smile which held all the kindness in the world. It told me much more about his real state than his actual reply.  
“Much better, thank you. You rather saved me from a strange dream, you know. An unpleasant affair, Watson. Unpleasant indeed. But I shall spare you its macabre details.”  
“You dreamed of a case then?”  
At this, Holmes' eyes opened, and I believed to sense a flicker of something akin to concern in them. “Certainly. Do our adventures never dog you in the night?”  
“Why, yes. Occasionally.”  
“Well, there you have it.” His lids snapped shut again, and his worried expression faded into a slight smile. “I am not in the habit of sharing my dreams. They are too abstract to be of any use- but I will make an exception for you, as I know you take an interest in these things.”  
I was delighted at the offer, as it spoke of the trust he put in me. I sometimes tried to imagine what this great brain of his might produce when unleashed during the night. Eventually, I had reached the conclusion that he must be one of those men who do not dream; that he simply shuts down at night, like a vampire in his coffin.  
I was glad to hear it was not the case, for it made my partner more human than he liked to present himself in public.  
“But I will only do so under one condition.”  
“Anything you want, Holmes.”  
“Good.” his smile widened just a little. “You must come lie with me. I'd rather you wrap your arms around me than kneel by my bedside as if I were a dying man.”  
A moment of hesitation on my part was enough for my friend to read my very thoughts.  
“The door is locked, dear fellow. And the staff have orders not to intrude upon me until called for. Now come here, for I have missed you terribly.”  
It was my turn to smile. Sherlock Holmes had his own way of expressing his affection towards me, which was never direct. While I appreciated the subtlety of our romance, my heart leaped at this straight-forward gesture.  
“Then I have no choice but to comply with your condition.” I removed my collar, and slipped into the warm sheets beside him.

We lay there for an hour at the very least, wrapped in each other's arms, and talking about God and the world like we did so often at home from the safe comfort of our armchairs. He told me in great detail about his dreams- even some he could recall from his boyhood. It was the first time it even occurred to me Holmes had once been a boy. When I asked him about it, however, he simply shrugged his shoulders and told me his childhood was nothing so out of the ordinary, and that it would be a story for another day. As to his dreams, I will only say that I am certain his occupation had left its marks on him just as mine had left upon me. There are, after all, reasons why we are so drawn to each other. Contrary to what my readers might believe, we are not polar opposites- we are simply two men whose dissimilarities fill each other's gaps. Like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, we complete each other through our differences, and yet, at the end of the day, are part of the very same picture.  
Suddenly, overcome with a sense of domestic bliss, I felt that, if he were ever to disappear from my life, it would equate to a piece being taken out of the centre of my very own jigsaw, leaving it dissatisfactory and incomplete.

At last, we decided to have breakfast brought to our room. It was a great joy to see him devour two omelets. It showed his rapid improvement.  
After I had changed my clothes, Holmes instructed me to go down into the lobby and inquire for a suite, so we could continue to share rooms. Being his doctor proved to be a rather splendid excuse for many intimate liberties.  
Once we had secured the rooms, and our luggage was moved, I helped the man himself to reach his destination. Following the excitement of the change of scenery my friend went back to sleep, so I ventured out for a walk. It is therefore understandable how surprised I was to find the room empty on my return.  
“Holmes? Where are you? Holmes!”  
A warm spring breeze lifted the delicate white curtains of the open French window, and brought with it a hint of tobacco. It was followed by a jovial, “Out here! Come join me, Watson!”  
Baffled, I stormed onto the balcony. There he was, basking in the sun with a cigarette in hand, and some tea and, what appeared to have been a croissant on the table next to him.  
“How did you get here?”  
“With the help of the maid, who was also kind enough to provide me with this small meal. I was craving some fresh air.”  
“Fresh air...” I repeated with some ennui.  
Holmes shrugged. “And tobacco.”  
“You are going to kill your appetite and what is left of your health. You were making such great progress. Now is not the time to be reckless! If not for your own sake, then for mine!” I crossed my arms in front of my chest in anger.  
I seemed to have chosen my words well, for he suddenly looked guilty.  
“Perhaps you are right...” he said, finally putting out the cigarette. “I often forget there is more to this vessel than wits.”  
“Many people do, believe me, but I do not. I am disappointed in you, Holmes.”  
A sigh. “I suppose rightfully so...” there was a brief silence. “I wonder...what does it take to regain your trust?”  
I could see the sincerity in his pallid face; a look I simply could not withstand.  
“A promise...” I muttered.  
His features showed surprise. “That is all?”  
“On your honour as a gentleman.”  
“Very well, I know how much promises mean to you, and I will honour it.”  
“So? Do you promise?”  
Holmes bowed his head. “I make the solemn promise not to-”  
“On your honour as a gentleman.”  
We were again caught in one of our little games. One could it say it was our way of narrowly avoiding conflict.  
“I solemnly swear- on my honour as a gentleman- to refrain from tobacco until my health is restored. Was that quite satisfactory, doctor?”  
I hesitated. “Yes...thank you.”  
“Splendid.” Holmes smiled at me in the fshion of a husband who had successfully redeemed himself. He then stretched out a hand for me to take. “Will you join me now?”  
I simply took his hand in playful resignation, and sunk into the chair next to him.   
We proceeded to spend some more time seated in the sun, before clouds conquered the sky and forced us to resturn inside lest Holmes should catch a cold on top of his already weakened health.  
Despite this little incident, and my presence in a professional position, our stay proved to be a lovely holiday, filled with a number of blissful moments similar to those recounted above. We took walks together, as soon as Holmes felt strong enough to leave the room the next day, and even went out for dinner to a small but excellent restaurant. We basked in the sun and played chess in the park adjoining the hotel.  
His recovery was so rapid indeed (aided, no doubt by the southerly French climate), we were able to pack our things by the fifth day, and head for London by the sixth.


	3. Homeward bound

The day of our departure was overcast and melancholy, much like Holmes' mood. The moment I woke him in the morning I could see his health had relapsed slightly. Apparently, he had spent the night tossing and tuning in bed. It didn't take much imagination to understand he had been haunted by how narrowly he had avoided colossal failure.  
I was glad, therefore, when we finally boarded our train. As much as I had enjoyed looking after my friend, the sooner we could get some distance between us and the destination of our involuntary holiday the better.  
We stowed away our luggage, and, thanks to my companions foul mood, almost got into an argument once again. Soon the train jolted into motion, and we were but two weary travellers homeward-bound.

Tired and tense, we sat in silence for a several hours, until luncheon, when we made for the dining car. A meal and some conversation greatly improved Holmes' spirits. His eyes glistened once and again and his face resumed a healthier colour as he rambled on about gardens and what to deduce about a person from the plants they keep.  
I had long pardoned his earlier misconduct, and was even glad (at least to some degree) to see my friend's energy return to him.  
As I listened with great fascination to his lecture, I was once again overcome with great admiration for the man, and, despite his many shortcomings, considered myself lucky to be his partner.   
Save for his brother and our landlady, I am, to the best of my belief, the only one who has the privilege of knowing the many sides of Holmes' remarkable personality. Not simply his strict sense for justice, his impatience, and his often cold and reasoning nature, but also his burning passions, his sense of humour, and above all, his great kindness.  
As I got to know him more intimately, I came to realise that one would not be possible without the other, as it is with all of us, it is the sum which makes up the whole. He could not have excelled in his field, were it not for his eccentricity- but neither would it have been possible without his empathy.  
Naturally, I was not solely attracted to his character. There was a more basic, physical aspect to it. He wore his favourite grey suit that day. Which was, as it happens, my favourite as well. Its perfectly tailored cut complimented Holmes' lean frame, making him appear even more elegant than usual.  
The clouds had parted to pour golden rays of sunlight onto my friend's formidable face, and giving his dark hair the appearance of having been set ablaze. His eyes shone in the lightest grey as he caught my smitten gaze. A smile lit up his features, and I could feel his foot brush against mine.  
There is another advantage of being with a man of Holmes' faculties. We never really had to proclaim our love aloud. A glance, a smile, or sometimes a gesture were enough for him to understand- and he would do his best to remind me our feelings were mutual.  
“Well, Watson. How about a little game to keep us occupied?”  
“Sounds delightful! I believe I have a pack of cards somewhere in my bag.”  
“I was thinking of something rather different.” he said with a languid smile.  
“What do you suggest then?”  
“Since you always marvel at my methods, I thought it might be entertaining to help you acquire them for yourself.”  
“And how?”  
“Tell me what you can deduce about our fellow passengers.”  
I hesitated. He was right. I did want to learn his tricks, but failed miserably every time I as much as attempted it- and it would certainly provide ample entertainment to Holmes. Even so, I was certain I would make greater progress with his aid. “Well...I shall do my best.”  
“Splendid!” he cried with genuine delight. “Let us start with the lady in the purple dress.”  
The woman in question was seated right behind Holmes, facing in my direction. I could only guess how he knew about her presence, considering she arrived a good while after us.  
Like so often, my friend must have read the question from the puzzled expression on my face, for he cocked his head and smiled good-naturedly.  
“The window, my dear boy! We were passing through a tunnel when she entered, allowing me to watch her occupy the space behind me. Now, shall we?”  
I nodded. It was hard for me to really catch any details, as I tried hard not to stare and intrude upon her privacy. The last thing I wanted was to upset the young lady. As always, there was little I could read from her appearance. She was wealthy, so much was obvious from her attire- and she was unmarried. Her age could not possibly exceed 25. As to her physical attributes, she was of a rather plain beauty- with a rounded face and slightly reddened cheeks, like those of a country girl rather than a woman of the world. Her eyes were of a common brown, and her hair of a greyish-blonde, so that her face almost contrasted with her dress.  
Her shoes I was unable to see, and her hands told me nothing from a distance; so could not apply Holmes' golden rule of observation.  
I recounted my observations to him, and prepared myself for one of his half-humorous remarks. However, he once again took me entirely by surprise.  
“Very good. What do you make of your observations?”  
Inspired by these rare words of praise, I did my best to connect what I had observed with what I had learned from six years in Holmes' company.  
“Well, I believe she is the daughter of some local country squire. Undoubtedly, she is on her way to Paris to seek entertainment fit for a lady of her standing.”  
“Splendid! Anything else?” I could tell from the gleam in my partner's eyes that he was enjoying himself; much to my delight. There was hardly a greater joy for me than to see him in so excellent a mood. There was nothing left of the disgruntled old man he had seemed at our departure.  
I thought for a moment, but had to admit there was nothing I could add.  
“Well done, Watson! You are getting better and better. But, there are a few errors in your chain of reasoning I feel compelled to correct, if you are to learn from your mistakes.”  
My heart jumped at the commendation.  
“What have you observed then?”  
“First of all, that the lady is no Frenchwoman. She is either Swiss or Austrian- but I think the latter more likely. She would be able to speak better French, even if she were from a Canton where it is not used primarily. Which leads me to your next slight-”  
I lifted my hand to stop him. “Holmes! You go too fast! How do you know she is not local?”  
“Of course, Watson. Forgive me, I am getting ahead of myself. See her brooch? It is an alpine flower known as Edelweiss, most commonly found in those two countries.”  
“Could it not be a souvenir?” I interjected.  
“Very unlikely, as the decoration on her hat is also very distinctly Alpine. Moreover, I know she does not speak French well because she keeps looking about her in such a peculiar fashion. It is typical for someone who is trying to read something, but has a hard time deciphering it.”  
“How do you know she isn't merely short-sighted?”  
He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Puh, puh, Watson! She has neither the posture, nor the marks upon her nose! Her eyesight is in perfect order! So- on to the next point. You said she is the daughter of a country squire. The fact she does not understand French well utterly invalidates the claim. Had she had the fortune of the education wealthy children receive, the language would be second nature to her. Her face and hands speak of a rural upbringing, certainly, but not a wealthy one. No, my bet would be on an agricultural background. Her family has risen in the world not too long ago- through an unexpected inheritance. I wager it is her first time out of her native country.” His eyes wandered from girl's faint reflection in the window, to meet my gaze  
“I am certain you have read the rural origins in the redness of her cheeks. No paint could produce so natural an effect. The dress speaks of wealth- as you have correctly observed. It is her behaviour which really gives her away. No lady from a good home would slouch in such a way.”  
It was true that she had a rather more relaxed pose than befitted a lady.  
“And twice has she waved for the waiter-” Holmes continued. “-which speaks, as you will no doubt agree, of very little etiquette. This, again, leads me to the final surmise I have made: the family's rise to wealth having been recent. She has not yet had occasion to learn the adequate mannerisms of her new status.”  
“And what about her destination?”  
“That she is going to Paris for amusement? It is the most probable inference to be drawn.”  
I beamed with excitement. Never before- and never thereafter, has my friend lauded me in such a way, regarding my meagre attempts at the art of deduction.

* * * * *

I believe I speak for the both of us when I say I we were happy to return to our compartment. While our little game in the dining car had been amusing, we preferred to travel in companionable solitude.  
Holmes' gaze idly followed the passing scenery. I could imagine only too well how he sneered, in his head, at those provincial little cottages.  
For a moment I considered remarking upon it, but decided it was better to remain silent. Instead, I pulled a book from my waistcoat pocket, and began to read.  
It was a small volume of poems I had picked up upon my departure from London to keep myself entertained during my journey. While essentially serving its purpose, the poems were nothing remarkable- especially nothing my friend would willingly endure.  
When I felt his gaze fixed upon me, I was certain I had become the object of his judgement now the cottages were out of sight.  
His words were therefore all the more surprising.  
“Would you mind reading aloud to me? It would serve greatly in soothing my nerves.”  
I looked up with some concern. “Soothing your nerves? Is there something troublilng you?”  
He leaned back and shook his head. His knee brushed against mine as he adjusted himself. I cannot help but think it was not quite on accident.  
“Well, I shall be happy to oblige, Holmes, but surely this sort of poetry is not to your liking?”  
Another one of those rare smiles passed across his features like a ray of sunshine between two drifting clouds. “Anything is to my liking if it is presented by you, my boy.”  
So I began reading to him. The assortment of poems was rather strange, without any rhyme or reason to the selection, worse still- most of them were of an almost intolerably romantic nature. I chose to omit them for my partner's sake. Still, there were some I was certain he would enjoy.

“In one year they sent a million fighters forth  
South and North,  
And they built their gods a brazen pillar high  
As the sky  
Yet reserved a thousand chariots in full force—  
Gold, of course.  
O heart! oh blood that freezes, blood that burns!  
Earth's returns  
For whole centuries of folly, noise and sin!  
Shut them in,  
With their triumphs and their glories and the rest!  
Love is best.”

So ended the last poem I read aloud. It was part of a ballad by Robert Browning. I was certain I had read in the days of my youth but had entirely forgotten about since.  
My companion was fast asleep, and had been so for some time. Nonetheless, I kept on reading hoping; wishing it would help in some way. Perhaps the idea was not so far-fetched after all, as the look on his face was one of content.  
I smiled at the view, and, as I closed my book, found myself in agreement with the poet:  
Love is, indeed, best.


	4. A quiet night at home

We had to change in Paris, in order to catch the last train to Calais. It was a little past ten when we alighted. I felt rather drowsy, as it had been my turn to sleep for the past hour or so of our journey. I only awoke to Holmes touching me lightly on the shoulder. Another six hours were spent on a train before we reached Calais, whence a ferry would take us back to British soil.  
Thus, we arrived back in Baker Street, weary but glad to be home, at nine in the morning.  
Mrs. Hudson had been notified of our arrival, and had prepared breakfast for the two of us.

I spent the day catching up with some sleep- trusting Holmes would keep his promise and behave.  
At dinner time, when I first emerged from my chamber, feeling rather refreshed and invigorated- all seemed to be well.  
Holmes was perched in his armchair, meditatively plucking at the strings of his violin.  
“Ah, good evening, dear Watson. I am delighted you got the rest you deserved, after a week with undoubtedly one of the most taxing patients to ever plague a doctor.”  
I chuckled, and, upon passing him, moved a hand gently through his hair. He had not pomaded it at all that day, by the looks of it. The sight was a rare, but not unpleasant one.  
We are in the prime of our lives- Holmes 33, and I 35, yet, the unkempt shock of brown hair on my friend's head made him look almost 10 years younger.  
“I am sorry to disappoint you, Holmes, but I have had dealings with much more difficult men than you.”, said I, upon taking my seat at the dinner table.  
He gave a short laugh. “Well, I am glad to hear it! There is much at stake, so I must do my best to be exemplary.”  
There was no need in asking what he meant, for I knew it well. My smile was hidden behind the newspaper, but there was no question as to whether he knew it was there.  
I am certain he cast a glance in my direction, picturing my face in his vivid mind.  
Was it Holmes' illness, and the resulting dependency upon me which had made him so affectionate?  
I admit that the change caused me great joy, though I knew- and, was in fact glad, it was only temporary. It was not his real character after all. He was of a much more inward nature by default, only allowing others to see what he wanted them to, while perfectly concealing any internal processes that would put him at a disadvantage.  
Like a caged tiger, Holmes too would invariably fall into the blackest depression, when taken out of his natural habitat.  
Following this metaphor, I might have been the veterenerian, who saved the animal after having walked into a trap. I was glad to have gained his trust and affection, but would be more than happy to release him back into the jungle of crime where he could truly thrive.  
“Do you know what Mrs. Hudson is preparing for dinner?” I asked eventually.  
“Certainly.” there was smugness in his voice.  
“So?”  
“So what?”  
“What will there be for dinner?”  
“Why don't you ask the lady herself? Those are her steps on the stairs, if I am not mistaken.”  
Holmes got up, and opened the door for our landlady. She thanked him, and both of them proceeded to the table- my friend to join me, and Mrs. Hudson to deliver our food.  
“Lamb shank pie? Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you shouldn't have!” I cried at the sight of my favourite dish.  
“Oh yes, doctor. I should. A man who up and leaves to another country to look after his friend deserves a good pie in my books.” she chuckled in her amicable way. “Well, gentlemen, I hope you can quite sort yourselves out after dinner. I'll be going to the theatre tonight.” Again, she laughed. “Can you imagine? Mrs. Turner and I in a box at the Adelphi?”  
“How lovely! I wish you both a pleasant evening!” I chimed. “Might I ask how you came by such a splendid opportunity?”  
“Well, doctor that's the thing- I don't know. A boy delivered the tickets yesterday. I told him he must have mistaken the house, but he wouldn't have it. So I looked at the tickets and addresses, and right enough, they were addressed to Mrs. Hudson and Turner, 221a, and b Baker Street.”  
Holmes smiled warmly. It was enough to give him away. “Better not question your luck, Mrs. Hudson. I too wish you a pleasant evening.” he said blandly, but I knew the joy he felt at having done something good for the old ladies.  
She returned the courtesy, and bustled off.  
“You sent her the tickets, didn't you?” I inquired once she was gone.  
My partner smiled enigmatically and shrugged. “Perhaps? Whoever it was, there was only one reason he could have done it: to make certain both landladies are out of the house, to ascertain there will be no further intrusions this evening. Perhaps the sender wished to spend some time alone with his loved one.” he looked up with a smirk. “But alas, we shall never know.”  
The conversation ended there, and we focused our attention on our meals.  
Fed and satisfied, we returned to our armchairs, with a whiskey and soda each. Holmes talked about neolithic instruments, as we waited for our landlady to make her final appearance.  
His tone had assumed a slightly melancholy ring. In fact, his whole demeanor was that of a fatigued man. Once again I simply put it down to a relapse in his recovery.

Finally, we heard the long-awaited sound of the front door. My friend did not lose an instant in getting to his feet, and moving to the sofa.  
“Come sit with me, Watson. The curtains are closed, and any prying eyes and ears taken care of.”  
I obeyed. As soon as I had claimed my spot, Holmes sprawled out lengthwise on the sofa, with his head rested firmly in my lap.  
A loving chuckle escaped me. There was, sometimes, a feline side to his behaviour.  
He closed his eyes with a sigh of utter content. “That's much better...”  
“I won't believe for a moment you are comfortable with your neck all at an angle.” A stupid, smitten grin was frozen in place on my features.  
I grabbed a cushion and, gently lifting Holmes' head, placed it in my lap for both our comfort.  
“My dear Watson...always the caring soul.” his eyes had opened again to meet mine.  
I brushed a loose strand of hair from his forehead, and replied, “I suppose it's in my nature...”  
“Undoubtedly.” he closed his eyes again, and his breathing softened.  
To feel his weight pressing down on my lap was so unfamiliar, I hardly knew what to do.  
Should I yield to my instincts and stroke his handsome head? Should I simply place a hand on his chest? Or perhaps both? No, that would be too much. He must have expected me to touch him, otherwise he would not have sought my company. Besides, I could not miss the opportunity to freely express my own affections.  
Love must be expressed on both sides to be fulfilling.  
Therefore, I settled with placing my hands where it was most comfortable- my right gently playing with his hair, and my left quietly resting on his chest.  
I was unable to feel his heartbeat this time, owing to the fact he was appropriately dressed for the time of day.  
Minutes passed in appreciative silence, and I had begun to think Holmes had drifted off to sleep, when he raised his voice unexpectedly.  
“I never cared for the future, Watson...I always made do with the present. And the past...well, at least regarding crime. But all this malady has forced me to consider how I want to spend my reclining years, when my body has become too frail to chase about the streets of London, and my wits dulled by the ever-grinding wheel of time...”  
It was one of those moments in which my friend suddenly opens up to reveal his innermost feelings to me, and giving me the honour of a quiet glance in the innermost aspects of his vulnerable, human side. I have learned not to ask him about it. He would only speak of those things when he pleased- much like when I had asked him about his boyhood a few days prior. It was clear then, he had no desire to share it with me just yet.  
“I have always taken a special interest in bees. Their ways simply fascinate me- their social orders, their ways of communication, and their industriousness. I feel, at times, that they are a much more pleasant alternative to our own kind. I am much inclined to write a monograph upon the matter someday...perhaps when I acquire my first hive.”  
There was the softness of a dreamer in his voice in such a way as I had never heard it before.  
“But I digress...Since I cannot possibly keep bees in the city, I shall move to the country. Where, I have not decided yet, but I would like to take up a small farm there...perhaps keep a dog or two, if my health will allow it.”  
I was glad to hear Holmes speak of his plans for the future, as I hoped it would give him a reason to take better care of himself.  
“What kind of dog would you like then?” I asked with as much love as a man could hold, so endearing was his little monologue.  
“Oh...perhaps a bull terrier. I have quite the history with those rascals, you know.” he paused and shook his head. “No, no, what a silly idea. Bull terriers are only for the young. A Labrador would be better-suited to an old man.”  
I chuckled. “Forgive me,, Holmes, but I cannot imagine a man of your character keeping a Labrador. Surely, even age cannot change your quick and eager nature!”  
Now it was his turn to laugh. “Really, Watson! Did you forget how frightfully lazy I can be?”  
“Yes, but only when there is nothing else to occupy you, Holmes.”  
“You have got me there.” he admitted humorously. “Well, we shall see soon enough which- and how many faithful friends shall keep me company in my retirement.”  
We fell silent again, after he had asked me how I was planning on spending my own later years. I had simply shrugged in answer, and told him I had never payed any mind to the matter.

I must have dozed off at some point, for I awoke to the sound of the clock on the mantelpiece chiming eleven. My companion's warmth still radiated against me, and his pleasant weight pressed into the pillow I had provided.  
He had turned to face the fireplace, therefore I could not see his face, but I could have sworn to hear the rasp of sleep in his voice as he said, “I am afraid it is time to continue the old charade, my boy. Mrs. Hudson is bound to return presently.”  
I huffed, whereas my friend took it rather more lightly. “It cannot be helped, I am afraid. What pretty fools we are, eh? To think we spent all evening lounging about, when we had the entire house to ourselves.”  
“Nonsense, Holmes. My life with you offers enough excitement. I could not have asked for anything more fulfilling.”  
We had gotten to our feet, and were now facing each other. A sparkle of delight entered Holmes' eye.  
“Well, then allow me to provide an even more fulfilling ending to this day...” With that, he took my hand gently in his, and stepped closer in order to press a gentle kiss onto my mouth.  
Of all our intimacies, I cherished our kisses the most. The feeling of his firm lips against mine, his familiar taste (in this case, infused with the smokey aroma of our excellent whiskey), and how his every move tickled my mustache...  
Some strange instinct forced me to bring a hand to his head; touching him, as if I could thus make the moment linger.  
It took some time until we could sober up from the intoxicating effects love often has, and to pry ourselves away from the other.

As soon as we had parted Holmes brought his cheek to mine, and muttered, “Good night, my dear fellow...”


End file.
